


it's warm and real and bright

by cresswell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fairy Tale Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1846924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresswell/pseuds/cresswell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"God damn," he says. "You've got a lot of hair."</p>
<p>(or: the one where Clarke is Rapunzel and Bellamy is Flinn.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's warm and real and bright

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i got a prompt in my askbox and thought i would share it here as well :)  
> my tumblr is lightwoulds.tumblr.com so feel free to send in a prompt whenever!

"The world’s a whole lot bigger than you and me, princess."

Clarke’s gazing down at the boy outside her tower. Her knuckles are white from clenching her windowsill, the skin so soft and pristine from never really touching dirt. The boy below is bathed in moonlight, his curly hair reflecting it with a deep blue-brown hue. He stands leaning against her tall tower, his head tilted back so he can grin up at her. "I don’t know," she says back, her voice too soft; she hopes it will carry all the way down. "The world seems very small to me."

”Which is exactly why you need this,” the boy says, pointing a finger at her in a way that says _aha, I’ve got you now._ “Come on. Haven’t you ever wondered what grass feels like between your toes? What it’s like to climb a tree? What wading in a river feels like against your skin?”

"No," she calls back down, defiant, but it’s a lie. Of course she’s thought about it. She’s thought about it a lot, but this boy has been waiting below her window, talking to her since sunset, and her mother hand warned her that that’s when the predators come out. "Perhaps you’d better go."

"Aw, don’t be like that," he calls back, teasing, but for some reason it makes Clarke’s fingers hesitate where they’re preparing to shut her window. "Let me show you the world, princess. I think you deserve that much."

"Deserve?" Clarke echoes faintly, feeling her resolve strip away and flutter off her skin.

"Yeah," the boy replies, walking backwards a little unsteadily so he can see her better. "You don’t deserve to have all the beauty of the world be hidden from you. You don’t understand the injustice now, but you will, once I show you."

"What makes you so sure I’ll let you show me?" Clarke’s voice almost sounds flirtatious, and she didn’t even know flirting was a quality she possessed, so she brushes it off, leaning her elbows on her windowsill.

The boy just grins up at her, so relaxed and at ease in her presence, and scuffs at the ground with the toe of his boot. “Come on, princess. Don’t make me grovel.”

Clarke laughs, leaning back from the windowsill. She hears the boy humming as she flits around her room, throwing things into a bag. For a moment, she panics, wondering if her dress is pretty enough and if her shoes are sensible enough and _when will she get to bathe again,_ oh god, but then the boy starts whistling and it’s like all the tension leaks out of her body.

When she’s ready, she throws a piece of rope over a hook and out the window, tying the other end tightly around her waist. She hears the boy make a surprised sound when the rope appears, almost like he didn’t expect her to really agree to go, and suddenly she feels nervous again.

He must sense her hesitation because he peers up at her, his jaw sharp and pretty in the low light. “Coming?”

"Yes," Clarke says, and then frowns. "No. Hold on. I don’t want you to kill me." After a beat, she adds, "Please don’t kill me."

The boy laughs, not unkindly, and his face lights up when he does. “I’m not going to kill you, princess. If I wanted to, I would’ve by now.” He unhooks his sword from his belt loop and holds it up so she can see it before setting it down on the grass. “See? Completely vulnerable.”

Clarke inches herself down slowly. “I just want you to know that if you try anything, I know three ways to kill you with just one hand.”

He starts to laugh, his eyes widening when he sees her expression. “Oh, you were serious. Shit.”

"I may not have very many gentlemen callers, but I know how to take care of them if they so much as look at me funny." If she wasn’t looking at him right after she says it she’d miss his expression- full of awe and amazement in a way that makes her look away.

"Well, I’ll just admire you from afar, then," he replies, and then her feet are touching the ground and she’s stumbling a little at how rough it feels beneath her shoes. He blinks, looking at her in mild horror. "God damn. You’ve got a lot of hair."

"What?" Clarke answers, distracted, but then glances over her shoulder. "Oh. Yeah." She rolls her eyes. Her hair is thick and wild, a very unfortunate combination, and currently falls just past her waist. "I haven’t cut it in a while."

"I like it," the boy replies lightly. Then he bows at the waist a little, glancing up at her with a lopsided grin. "I’m Bellamy."

"Bellamy," Clarke repeats, liking the way it feels on her tongue. "I’m Clarke."

They’re silent for a moment as Bellamy bends down to pick up his sword, sliding it easily back into its sheath. He smiles when he catches her looking and extends his hand. “Shall we?”


End file.
